


you are the bread to my butter

by Sway



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canon Related, Chefs, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 15:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sway/pseuds/Sway
Summary: “Excuse me, what did you just say?”“I said, for a fraud this isn't half bad.”On a bad day at the firm, Marcus drags Harvey to Mike’s restaurant. Mike who has a Michelin star but has never been to a culinary school. His revenge for the off-handed comment is served hot.





	you are the bread to my butter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TooSel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooSel/gifts).



> Prompt by the TooSel:  
> "AU where one of them is a chef and the other goes to their restaurant (they can meet bc they loved the food so much or because they hated it, your choice)"
> 
> When I read this and the other prompts I kinda wanted to do them all but I ended up doing this one. I hope you like it and can excuse my absolute lack of knowledge about haute cuisine or how a kitchen works. I just like to eat...
> 
> The meals are straight off the "ABCKitchen" menu. I hope to go there in the Spring...

For a week, a package appears on Harvey’s desk every day.

There’ve been rumors - most of them conjured up by Donna - that he has finally reached a stage in his career where people send him chopped-off body parts.

He doesn't confirm or deny any of them.

It's also Donna who plants herself on the opposite side of his desk on day six, her hands at her hips in her “no nonsense” - pose. 

“Okay, Harvey, let's hear it. Who is she? Or he? I'm not judging.”

Harvey eyes her over the edge of his laptop screen. “You're Donna. You judge. It's your default setting.” 

“Don't deflect. What is it with the packages? Is it some weird lawyer subscription box I don't know about?” 

“Like that would ever happen.” He leans back in his chair. “If you must know… It's food.” 

“Food.” 

“Food.” 

She sits down now as if he's about to let her in on the world's best kept secret. “I don't understand. You get a bagel from the cart. The rest of the day you live off coffee. And the only take-out I've ever seen you eat at your desk is the Thai from that dubious place near that weird thing.” 

“Because it's the best. Also this is not take-out. This is proper food.”

She raises a brow at him. “You're gonna need to give me more than that.”

Harvey rolls his eyes. “Remember last week when Alex brought on this hostile takeover?” 

“The one you were so pissed about?” 

“That one. That night I went to dinner with Marcus.” 

“And what did he want?” 

“He just wanted to have dinner with his brother. And he wanted to check out that new place… Faux Cuisine.”

Donna's jaw drops. “You mean the one with the chef who isn't actually a chef? That Faux Cuisine?” 

“Why am I surprised you know that place?” 

“Because my taste is eclectic unlike yours.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Anyway… we went to Faux Cuisine.” He says like it explains the world and then some. 

For a moment, Donna doesn't say anything, then her shoulders sag. “What did you do?” 

 

***

“Excuse me, what did you just say?” 

“I said, for a fraud this isn't half bad.” Harvey dabs the corners of his mouth with his napkin, looking as smug as can be. 

“Wow, that's… I mean the press called me a lot of things but not a fraud.”

Mike Ross is actually kinda cute when he's angry. He has his hands on his hips, his composure held together by the same flimsy buttons that fasten his chef's jacket. His very bright, very awake eyes shoot daggers at Harvey and the flush in his cheeks deepens with every second he spends at their table. 

It had started innocently enough. 

Marcus had invited Harvey to dinner at the place the week before and Harvey had agreed in desperate need for a night away from the firm. 

Unfortunately Alex had chosen that very day to bring on a hostile takeover case that they most likely wouldn't win but that would cost them a good deal of money anyway. 

They had argued about Alex’s solo mission and apologies had been exchanged, however the bitter taste in Harvey's mouth had stayed. 

He had tried to distract himself by googling up the restaurant and the supposed wunderkind chef. 

According to the website and Marcus’s ravings the guy - Mike Ross, 29, born and raised in Brooklyn - had build his career from scratch. It was almost literally the dishwasher to millionaire story. 

He had started as a busboy at some diner, then had gone on to be a waiter and had worked himself up the ranks until the resident chef had seen the kid's talent and hired him as his sous chef. And for some cosmic happenstance and media recognition Mike Ross had not only gotten his own restaurant but also a star in the guide Michelin. Without having ever set foot into a cooking school or culinary institute. 

It was too good to be true. And Harvey believed only half of it. 

Especially now that he saw the kid. He was a bit on the scrawny side despite being surrounded by food all day. He dark blond hair stuck up over a bandana that was questionable all by itself and his blue eyes shone bright as he directed the staff in the open kitchen. He was smiling a lot and seemed to have a great rapport with his colleagues. 

Again, it was too good to be true.

And so was the food. Marcus had gone for the porkchop while Harvey had decided on the lobster, mostly because the waitress had recommended it and he was annoyed and Marcus was annoyed by his annoyance. It was a brotherly thing. 

Much to his chagrin the food was actually pretty good. Way better than Harvey was willing to give a kid from Brooklyn credit for. 

So on a spiteful whim Harvey had told the waitress they needed to speak to the chef. And that's how Mike had appeared at their table. 

“Was everything to your liking, gentlemen?” Mike asked enthusiastically, beaming from ear to ear. 

“It was amazing,” Marcus cut in before Harvey had the chance to say anything. “You have a true gift.” 

Harvey snorted at Marcus's gushing. How his brother had turned into such a fanboy was beyond him.

“Thank you very much. I'm glad you enjoyed it.” Mike almost bounced on his feet. 

“My brother should know. He's an actual chef,” Harvey said, almost under his breath. He couldn't help it. 

And that's how he got himself into this situation in the first place. 

“Excuse me, what did you just say?” Mike cocks his head as if he hasn't heard right. 

“I said, for a fraud this isn't half bad.”

“Wow, that's… I mean the press called me a lot of things but not a fraud.”

Harvey puts down the napkin. “Well, what else would you call someone who is pretending to do something other people - like my brother - train years to do.”

“I'd call them talented. What are you? Some kind of lawyer?” 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Marcus chimes in. 

“Fortunately a profession you can't just pretend to do.”

Mike clears his throat, obviously trying not to say what the crimson blush on his cheeks is giving away. “Listen, I don't know why you're taking whatever went wrong in your day out on me. And my staff, for that matter. But I assure you, I am not a fraud. I may not have gone the usual route… no offense-” He gestures at Marcus who raises a hand in appeasement. “- but I worked hard for this. And I think having my restaurant sold out for weeks in advance speaks for itself.”

Harvey scoffs. He knows he shouldn't say this, shouldn’t go on but the verbal sparring with this kid is actually kind of fun. “All these people are here for your story, not for your food. If you believe anything else, you’re even more naive than I thought.”

“Alright, that’s it. I appreciate you coming here but I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

Harvey is almost disappointed by the turn of events. He would have expected a snappier comeback. 

“I think we should, yes,” Marcus agrees and reaches for his wallet. 

Mike holds out a hand. “Please, I wouldn't want to take your money. People might think I'm taking a bribe or something.” 

Harvey rises, buttoning his suit jacket. He reaches into his pocket to produce a bundle of folded up bills. He counts off $100 and slips into the breast pocket of Mike's uniform. “For your trouble.”

Then he leaves a very much flabbergasted Mike standing, while a not quite as flabbergasted Marcus follows him. 

Marcus who punches him in the arm when they're outside. “What the hell was that? Are you out of your mind?” 

“Honestly… I don't know.” Harvey looks back over Marcus's shoulder to find Mike still staring at him through the floor to ceiling windows facing the street. 

 

*

“What the hell was that?” Lola stage-whispers when Mike returns to the kitchen. 

“Honestly… I don't know.” He washes his hands in a sink in the corner, then splashes his face. “Hey, can you do me a favour?” 

“That's what sous chefs are for, right?” 

“Can you find out who that reservation was on?” 

“Why?” 

“Because revenge is best served with a homemade vinaigrette.”

Lola grins at him. “You’re the boss, boss.”

 

*

Day 1 of Mike’s revenge is a grilled portobello sandwich with the most decadent mayonnaise Harvey has ever tasted.

Day 2 is a crispy fish sandwich which really shouldn’t be as delicious.

Day 3 is two slices of a spinach and goat cheese pizza that is too good for something so simple. 

Day 4 is a cheeseburger with pickled jalapenos that leave a nice tingle in Harvey’s mouth. 

Day 5 is a serving of homemade ravioli with herbs and tomato sauce.

 

***

“You were a dick, Harvey. I love you and I know what Alex did pissed you off but you were a dick.”

“I know.”

“And?”

“And… what?”

Donna rolls her eyes. “And… this guy’s been sending you lunch for a week even though you insulted him. Don’t you think you need to apologize?”

“It’s been a week, Donna. I can’t apologize now. And I did mean what I said.”

She scoffs. “That makes it even worse.” She rises and straightens her dress. “Well, I guess that Mike Ross kid has a forgiving nature if he’d rather send you a tasting menu than sueing you. You’re just too lucky for your own good.”

“That’s part of my charme.”

She rolls her eyes again. “Well, just be glad you’re easy on the eyes.” She turns on her heel and heads for the door. “You still need to apologize.”

“But…”

“Moral high road, Harvey. It’s called moral high road.”

The door falls shut behind Donna and Harvey watches her walk away. He knows she’s right and she knows that he knows. He should apologizes, should have done so as soon as the first package had been delivered, but he’s never been good at admitting he’s been in the wrong. Besides, he has missed this window of opportunity now and it would make him look stupid. 

Well, that’s only half the truth. Yes, it would make him look a bit foolish to let a week and five lunch boxes pass before picking up the phone. The other half of the truth is that he’s afraid that if he does pick up the phone, the lunch boxes will stop. Because if he is entirely honest with himself (and with Mike Ross for that matter), the daily dose of hand-made food is something he could get used to.

As if one cue, there’s a knock on the door and the desk clerk delivers yet another package. 

Harvey opens the small food container and reveals a delicious looking slice of fried chicken with Swiss chard. His mouth waters. And in the back of his mind he hears Donna’s words again. Moral high road.

He plucks the business card from the lid of the container and dials the number.

“Faux Cuisine, this is Lola. How can I help you?” 

“This is Harvey Specter. I’d like to speak to Mike Ross, please.”

There’s an amused tone in the woman’s voice. “I’m sorry but Mr Ross is busy preparing tonight’s menu. Can I take a message?”

“Just let him know I called, please.”

“Or I can put you down for a table for one for tonight at, say, 9pm? The evening rush should be over by then.”

Harvey pauses for a moment but his stomach gives an affirmative grumble. “Fine. But you might need to hold the table because some of us have a real job.” He can feel Donna elbow him for the comment. 

“Whatever you say, Mr Specter. We’ll be expecting you at 9 then.” 

Before Harvey can reply, Lola has hung up.

 

***

Harvey bides his time at work. It's not too hard to busy himself, having his own firm keeps the paperwork coming. 

So he goes over the latest numbers which thankfully Louis compiles for him (not that Harvey will tell him) and does some prep for a preposition next week. There's also a trial coming up but that can actually wait. If he goes over that now, he'll be in a mood again and for some reason, he tries to avoid that. 

Just before 9pm he switches off the light on his desk and heads down into the lobby. Ray is already waiting out front and he has the nerve to have an amused smile on his face. 

“Hot date, sir?” 

“Hot food at least,” Harvey replies as he gets into the back seat. “And just for this comment I should have you fired.”

“You hired me for these comments. Where to?” 

Harvey gives him the address and Ray pulls into traffic. 

It doesn't take them long to get there and for a brief moment Harvey is annoyed by the fact. Is he afraid of what might happen? Not really. They're not going to poison him or put him through the meat grinder, but he can't deny the nervous flutter in his stomach. 

The restaurant is as packed as it was the week before but true to Lola’s words, there’s not quite as big a rush. Harvey is seated at the end of the row of tables closest to the kitchen - an obnoxiously convenient vantage point - he’s served a scotch and a basket of hand-cut fries without asking for it.

They are - he really starts to hate the word - delicious. A simple dish compared to the rest of the menu but well crafted and the mayonnaise… is almost enough to distract him from casting a glance or four into the open kitchen. 

Mike is hard at work, rushing back and forth between one of the stoves and the long work bench where the plates are arranged. He has a bandana tied around his head and Harvey tries not to notice that it matches his eyes. A black haired woman is working next to him, copying his orders, managing her side of the kitchen.

It is indeed a well-oiled machine. There is no confusion, no overly hectic movement, just a very concentrated air of business. It's nothing like Harvey's office and even less like the bullpen. Here, people work together and into the same direction while the associates are often pitted against each other even when their working on the same team. 

“My parents died in a car accident when I was a kid.” 

Harvey flinches when the chair opposite is pulled back and Mike slumps down on it, now sans bandana. He puts down a plate with a mozzarella and basil pizza and a glass of water for himself. 

“My Grammy taught me how to cook when I started living with her. I never thought I would be a chef and apparently, they don't like cheating at Harvard so that kind of put a stop to my career in law.” Mike takes a slice of the pizza and folds it in half to keep the mozzarella from sliding off. “And then Grammy had to be moved to a nursing home and we needed the money so I kept at it. And here we are now.” He takes a hearty bite, fully ignoring Harvey as he chews. 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

Mike takes a sip from his water. “Because that's the full story and you're not here for the food.” 

He's right, Harvey has to give him that. “I meant to apologize.”

“Meant to? You're not going to?” Mike grins at him. 

“You wouldn't accept it anyway. You're way too proud for that.” 

“You got that right.” 

“I was a dick.” 

Mike snorts. “Yes, you were.” 

“I had a bad day.” 

“It happens.” 

“I'm sorry.”

Mike looks at him, lets him stew. “How did you like the packed lunches?”

“They raised suspicions.” 

“Good.”

“That's why you send them?” 

Mike shrugs. “In part. You seemed like the guy who either lives off take-out or goes from one overpriced business lunch to the next. So I thought I'd send you something honest.” He reaches for the next slice. 

“Why?” 

“I believe it's called killing someone with kindness.” 

Harvey doesn't know what to say to that. 

Mike pushes the plate in Harvey's direction. “Will you please dig in now? We both know you'll like it.”

Harvey hesitates for a long moment. He is indeed hungry but Mike doesn’t need to know that just yet. For added drama, he pushes his glass to the side and then finally reaches for a slice of the pizza. It’s… no, he won’t say it. He won’t even think it.

While they share the rest of the pizza and what is left of Harvey’s fries, they start to talk. Mike asks about Marcus and what kind of restaurant he runs, about what kind lawyer Harvey is. Harvey tells him a little about what had him in a mood the day they met. From there, they vere off to music and movies and It’s quickly becoming evident that Mike is just as much a nerd as Harvey. Not that Harvey would ever use that word.

It’s easy to talk to Mike, with their raport and banter it feels as if they’ve known each for more than just one and a half hours total. 

“Mike, we need you in the kitchen.” A dark hair woman appears at their table and puts a hand on Mike’s shoulder just as he is about to leap into a quote-off from The Godfather.

“I’ll be right there, Lola.” Mike wipes his fingers and mouth on a napkin. “I’m sorry. Duty calls.”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“Feel free to have another drink. It’s on the house.” Mike sticks out a hand. “This has been fun.”

Harvey reciprocates and before he coherently thinks. it, he asks: “Do you have a day off?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I can work something out.”

“Good.”

Harvey watches Mike disappear through a set of swinging doors. Their gazes meet as Mike looks back at him from behind the kitchen counter. He’s hard to read but Harvey likes to believe there’s a smile on the young man’s lips.

He orders himself another drink but insists on paying for it himself. While he sips at it, he keeps watching Mike in the kitchen. There is some sort of discussion but doesn’t get so loud that he can hear what’s going on. After that’s settled, the crew returns to their respective workstations, falling back into their routine. 

Around Harvey the restaurant slowly empties out aside for a few tables with latecomers and those who hang on to their half-empty glasses. Deciding against being one of them, Harvey downs the remainder of his drink, then calls for the waitress to pay. 

As he slips into his jacket, he casts another glance back toward the kitchen but Mike is nowhere to be seen. Instead, his line of sight crosses that of the dark-haired woman - Lola, he presumes - who winks at him in the most telling way. 

There’s a little buzz along his spine that isn’t the result of the two drinks. It last all the way back home.

 

*

The following Monday, three days after Harvey’s visit to Faux Cuisine, another package arrives at his desk. Much to his surprise, it doesn’t hold a portion of a prepped meal but a glass with a screw-on lid. 

A place card reads above the digits of a cell phone number: “The first thing Grammy taught me. Tonight, if you’re free. If inconvenient, let me know and keep this in the fridge. Mike”.

Thankfully, Donna isn’t there to see the stupid grin on Harvey’s face as he texts Mike his address.

 

***

It's close to nine when the concierge calls up Harvey's condo and announces Mike. 

Harvey pours the wine while he waits for the knock on his door. 

Mike has donned his chef's uniform for jeans and a blue button down shirt. He looks gorgeous like that but Harvey doesn't say that. He doesn't even think that but other parts of him do. Very much so. 

“I'm sorry, I'm late. We had to prep for tonight and there was a thing with one of my suppliers,” Mike apologizes.

“Do you need a lawyer?” Harvey says by way of greeting. 

“I think I'll be good for now but thanks.”

Harvey steps away from the door to let Mike in. 

“Are you filthy rich?” Mike asks as he walks down the hall into the main space of the condo. 

“Yes, I am.”

“Cool.”

Harvey watches as Mike explores, watches him take in his interior as well as the spectacular view. He hardly notices anymore, only when he has someone over who has never seen it or when he's in a reflecting mood and uses the vista as a backdrop to think. 

“This is amazing. You should have come to insult me sooner,” Mike says off-handedly but there's that flutter in Harvey's stomach again. 

“Maybe I should have, yeah.” That hangs between for a moment. “So what's for dinner?” 

“My Grammy's spaghetti. Best thing you'll ever have in your mouth.” He gives Harvey his best cheeky smile.

“Kitchen's right there, hotshot.” 

“Oh no, I'm just giving pointers. You're doing it.”

Harvey raises a brow. “There's a reason why I live off take-out.” 

“I do enough cooking on the clock and you seem competent enough to chop some onions.” Mike hefts a paper bag onto the kitchen counter with a challenging look. 

“Famous last words.” Harvey reaches for one of the glasses. He needs a drink. Or four. “You're free to change your mind whenever you like.” 

Mike doesn't change his mind. Instead he takes the other glass and hops onto one of the stools. Then he pushes the grocery bag at Harvey. It contains an onion, a garlic bulb, a chunk of parmesan cheese and a bunch of basil as well as a plastic tub of hand-made spaghetti. 

“You made these?” Harvey asks, holding up the container. 

“Lola did. I have no patience for the pasta machine. It's way too finicky for me.” 

“That's the dark-haired woman?” 

“She is and no, we're not.”

“I didn't ask.”

“Yes, you did.” 

Harvey regards him for a moment, before he uncuffs his sleeves and rolls them up over his elbow. “Well, Bocuse, what do I do?”

“You’re going to need a saucepan, some olive oil and balsamic vinegar,” Mike instructs. “Oh, and a chopping board and a knife.”

“I like how you assume I have these things.”

“I bet those things came with your kitchen even if you never use them.”

Harvey collects the demanded ingredients, arranging them on his counter. “Now what?”

“Now you get to chopping. Do the onions and the garlic first, then pick the basil and chop up the leaves and stems.” 

Harvey does as he is told. He chops up the vegetables, then puts the pan on the stove to cook the onions and garlic in a swig of olive oil. Once they are a nice golden brown, he adds the vinegar.

“Now you need the jar I sent you.”

“Can you grab it from the fridge?” Harvey nods in the direction of the appliance. “I don’t want this to burn.”

“Don’t think you’ll trick me into doing the cooking for you.” Mike slides off the stool to retrieve his glass from the fridge. “All I’m going to do is pour this into the pan while you keep stirring. Then you’re going to let it cook for about 15 minutes. In the meantime you can set up a pot with water for the pasta.”

“What’s in this?” Harvey asks as he follows Mike’s instructions. 

“Tomatoes, mostly. Some herbs and a few special ingredients. It’s family secret.”

“From you grandma?”

“From the one and only Edith Ross.”

“If she’s the one who taught you how to cook, she must be proud how you turned out.”

Mike’s mood sobers a little. “She would have been, yeah. She died a few years ago.”

Harvey stops in his tracks of putting a pot under the faucet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright.” Mike waves him off but there’s a flicker in his eyes that betrays his nonchalance. “I mean, it’s kinda not but… I just wish I’d been with her more. I was working at a different restaurant at the time and I tried so hard to please the chef that I did all these extra shifts. I even almost missed the call from the nursing home.”

“Mike…” Before Harvey knows he’s doing it, he has a hand on Mike’s shoulder.

Mike gives him a brave smile. “Sorry. I get a little carried away when I talk about her.”

Harvey knows the feeling all too well. For a moment he contemplates sharing his own story but he doesn’t want to go there. Not now, not tonight.

Mike clears his throat. “Anyway, fill the pot three-quarters up and add a tiny pinch of salt. Then let it boil. Once that’s done the sauce should be ready.”

“If you say so.” Harvey sets the pot on the stove. “Would you mind setting the table? Plates are in cabinet there, cutlery in the drawer beneath. I'm short one bus boy tonight.” 

Mike rolls his eyes but smiles. “That brings me back… The good old days.” 

“Good thing you stayed so down to earth.”

“If you ask me, every chef should start out bussing tables. Puts things into perspective when you do the grunt work.”

“Same goes for lawyers. Which is why I started out in the mail room of my firm.”

Mike's smile widens into a grin. “See, we have more in common than you think.”

Mike goes about to set the table while Harvey keeps an eye on the sauce and pretends to know what he's doing. The water already begins to bubble when Mike returns. 

“That looks good. The pasta only needs a few minutes because it's fresh.” He gets another spoon, crowding into Harvey as he dips it into the sauce for a taste. “That's not terrible. Where are your spices?”

Harvey points at one of the cabinets. His mouth has gone a little dry, having the young man pressed up against without a word of warning. Not that it’s unwelcome. Not at all.

Mike goes to town with his salt and pepper, adds some oregano and thyme before he finally adds in the chopped up basil. Then he dips the spoon into the sauce again and hold it out for Harvey. “Have a taste.”

Harvey leans down to lick the sauce off the spoon. It is indeed really good. The sauce, too. “So do I get in on your Michelin star now?”

“Not sure it works like that. Besides, it’s not all that great aside from the press and the place being pretty much fully booked every night. It’s not forever, I have to re-earn it every year. That’s a lot of work.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.”

“Thanks.”

A beat passes between them. And another. Harvey doesn’t want to pull back and Mike doesn’t seem to have any intention to either. Which Harvey doesn’t mind at all. He even inches half a step forward and further into Mike’s personal space. 

“The pasta needs to go in now.”

It takes Harvey a moment to register what Mike has said. It takes him even longer to take a step back, reach for the plastic container and dump the pasta into the boiling water.

Mikes switches off the stove and pulls the pan off the hot plate. “It’ll only take like three minutes then we can eat.”

“Do you always do that?”

“Do I always do what?”

“Teach your grandma’s recipe to people who insult you?”

“Yeah, that’s my shtick.” Mike eyes him with a glint in his eyes. “You’re the first, actually.”

Harvey watches him as he rummages through the cabinet again for a strainer. “I’m sorry, Mike. For what I said at the restaurant.”

“I know. And I think you’ve almost done enough to make it up to me.” Mike puts the sieve into the sink. “Strain, please. But keep about a cup of water in the pot. Then you dump the pasta back in and add the sauce.” He rounds the counter for his glass. “More wine?”

“Yes, please.” Harvey follows the instructions. “What does it take to fully make it up to you then?”

Mike pours first Harvey and then himself some more wine and takes a swig. “You could take me to bed.”

Harvey stops in his tracks of stirring the pasta into the sauce. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on. I had my sous chef figure out where you worked only so that I could send you lunch for a week. About which you never complained, by the way. Instead you call my restaurant and get yourself lured into sharing a pizza with me. And now we’re here cooking my Grandma’s recipe. Tell me you did not see this coming?”

“What about this?” Harvey nods down at the pot. 

Mike hands Harvey his glass, crowding Harvey against the counter. “It’s always better the next day anyway.”

“It very much seems like you’ve orchestrated this whole thing.” Harvey takes another sip and suddenly wishes he’d have something a little stronger. Not that he needs any sort of liquid courage but he wouldn’t mind having anything to take away the stutter of his pulse.

“Well, the press did call me a genius, so…”

Mike tastes like red wine when he kisses Harvey, red wine and whatever spice he has put into that sauce. He pushes Harvey back until he's perfectly trapped against the kitchen island. 

It's an awkward fumble since they both have a glass in hand but somehow Harvey's arm ends up around Mike's waist and Mike has his free hand in the back of Harvey's neck. 

“We should take this someplace else,” Mike murmurs against Harvey's mouth when he breaks the kiss. 

Harvey huffs a little laugh. “So there's no fucking in your kitchen?” 

“Not when I might singe my ass on a hot plate.” 

“That's reasonable.” 

Mike tugs him down for another kiss. “I'm a reasonable guy.” 

“Bedroom's through there.” 

Mike pulls back, looking absolutely delectable with his lips red and swollen, his blue eyes darker now. “Switch off the stove and take the pot off the plate.” With that, he turns and heads for Harvey's bedroom. 

Somehow kitchen instructions have never sounded so enticing. Harvey isn't really sure what's happening right now but he doesn't mind it at all.

He makes sure he won't accidentally burn down the building before he follows Mike. 

Mike has already kicked off his shoes and is lounging on the bed propped up on his elbows like the belongs there. His shirt has ridden up his stomach, failing to hide the tell-tale bulge in his jeans. He sits up as Harvey approaches, reaching for his wrist to tug him down. 

He is surprisingly strong, using his momentum as leverage to pull Harvey next to him and slide into his lap in one sweep motion. 

Harvey wraps one arm around Mike's waist while his other hand goes into his hair again, gently tugging on it as they kiss again. 

Mike fights him for dominance and Harvey lets him have it, giving into Mike obvious hunger. He wriths on top of Harvey, letting him feel his need as he almost dry humps him. He struggles with the buttons of Harvey's shirt, trying to work them open without breaking the kiss. 

Finally, Harvey has enough of the awkward fumble and he pushes Mike off of him. He sits up and tends to the buttons himself, stripping out of his dress shirt and t-shirt. 

Mike uses the opportunity to get rid of his own shirt, revealing pale skin over well toned abs and pecs. He catches Harveys staring. “What? Not what you expected?”

Harvey’s expression turns into a smug smile. “Better. Come here.” He beckons and Mike steps between his knees. He doesn’t offer any resistance when Harvey reaches for his belt and pulls it from its loops. He goes for the zipper of his jeans next, working the stubborn pants down over his ass. Mike lets him undress him fully, only helps by wriggling his hips as Harvey tugs his boxers down as well. 

He could stop to appreciate the sight of Mike’s naked body right in front of him but Harvey doesn't. He can do that later. Somehow this has gotten a life of its own and he doesn’t make an effort to stop or even question in. Instead, he leans into suck the tip of Mike’s cock into his mouth.

Mike hisses, steading himself against Harvey by putting a hand on his shoulder. “Look who's not wasting any time now?” comes his comment, his voice quivering. 

“You lied,” Harvey replies. 

“About what?”

With a grin that can’t possible be any more smug, Harvey looks up at him. “This is the best thing I’ve ever had in your mouth.”

“Oh yeah? Any more lines where this came from?”

“Oh there is plenty.”

Most of what happens after that is a bit of blur. Mike pulls Harvey to his feet to get rid of the rest of his clothes, discarding them unceremoniously to the floor. He’s onto him again then, tumbling back on the bed and straddling Harvey’s thighs.

Their bodies are pressed together as they kiss, their skin sticky with sweat and already more. Harvey tries to reach for as much of Mike as he can, hands sliding up his arms and down his back, finding the curve and swell of his ass. 

Mike worms a hand between their bodies, wrapping his fingers around Harvey’s cock. He sets up a relaxed rhythm that matches the slow roll of his hips against Harvey’s. 

“Keep this up….,” Harvey murmurs against the corner of Mike’s mouth, teasing his lips with his tongue. “And we’re getting back to dinner really soon.”

“Then we better get to it.” Mike rolls his hips one more time before he slides off Harvey’s lap, flopping down on the mattress.

Harvey gets up to grab a bottle of lube and a condom from his nightstand before climbing back onto the bed. Mike snatches the lube from his hand and squirts some of the gelly liquid into his palm. Harvey watches him reach back and run his fingers down his crack, sucking in a breath as a he traces the very rim of his hole. 

“How are we…,” Harvey leans down to kiss a line down Mike’s spine. 

“Like this… for now.” Mike’s voice holds a little stutter as he pushes a finger in. “We’ll do it face to face later.”

There’s something mesmerizing about watching Mike prep himself, about seeing him slide his finger past his rim with surprising ease. The little moans and mewls are an added bonus and something Harvey plans on making him do quite a lot for the next couple of hours. 

Mike adds a second finger and soon enough a third. Harvey tries his best not to stroke himself in synch with Mike’s rhythm. If he would, this would actually be over way too soon. 

“Ready when you are.” Mike shifts into a more comfortable position, on his stomach with his weight on his elbows.

Harvey settles between his knees, getting a good look at the reddened and very inviting hole. Usually, he loves to do the prepping, loves to tease, loves the bit of torture he can administer but this is… well, it is quite spectacular, really, having Mike open and ready in front of him without having done much to help it along.

Harvey opens the tinfoil package and rolls the condom over his cock, then spreads more lube down his length. He aligns his tip with Mike’s hole, refraining from pushing in just yet. 

“You’re a fucking tease, aren’t you?” Mike tries to push back and get Harvey inside of him but Harvey holds him down. 

“You brought this on yourself.” Harvey could tease him some more, could let him feel him but not have him, but all that would accomplish is driving himself crazy with want. 

Mike is impossibly hot and tight around him as he pushes forward, burying himself into him at a slow pace. For a brief moment, Mike tenses beneath him and Harvey pauses. When Mike nods, giving his okay, he continues to push into him until he’s fully sheathed inside of him. His fingers dig into the fleshy part of Mike’s hips, holding onto him.

It's an almost frantic thing at first, an uneven push and shove until they find a rhythm. Mike pushes himself up on his elbows for some leverage as Harvey thrusts into him at relaxed but relentless pace. 

He slows down a bit when Mike beckons, craning his neck, wordlessly asking for a kiss. Harvey leans down to meet his lips, the change of angle drawing a low moan from Mike and he quivers around Harvey. 

“You feel amazing.” Harvey trails more kisses down Mike's shoulders. “I should've called you sooner.” 

“Yeah, you should have.” Mike reaches back, fingers finding the curve of Harvey's ass. “Don't be delicate with me. Just…” He pushes back, arching his spine. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. I mean I'll be sore for a while cuz it's been a long time but-” Mike shoots him a grin “-it's also been really a _long_ time.”

The words take a moment to filter through Harvey's adrenaline muddled brain. His cock is quicker on the uptake, twitching inside of Mike. When it finally clicks with him, he sits back and pulls Mike to his knees.

The new angle sends a ripple through Mike's body. He adjusts his position, arching his back so that his one shoulder is pressed into the mattress. With the other free hand he reaches for his cock. As he gives himself a languid stroke, his muscles flutter around Harvey's cock. 

“Please…” Mike all but whimpers when Harvey doesn't move. 

“Tell me what you want.” 

“I want you to fuck me.” 

Harvey kneads the soft globes of Mike’s ass, spreading him open. “You're so responsive. Let's hear more of that.” He pushes forward and Mike rewards him with low grunt. 

There must be something about this position, this angle, that has Mike turn into a pliant mess. He easily gives in to Harvey's thrusts, lets himself be taken, be fucked. 

He times his strokes with Harvey's rhythm and everytime he does, Harvey feels him quiver deep inside. 

“Fuck, I'm going to come.”

Were it anyone else, some random person he'd picked up in a bar, Harvey would call him pathetic. It's different with Mike, though. It's different because he feels the same, feels the urgency and the raw want. He himself is stumbling to the edge. His pace has picked up, urged on by the hot tightness of Mike’s ass, by the little mewls and moans Harvey elicits with every thrust.

“Fuck... that’s it. That’s… right there... please. Please…. More.”

Harvey grabs him hard enough to leave marks, digs his fingers into Mike’s hips. “Don’t hold back. Come for me.”

He isn’t really sure if he’s talking to Mike or to himself but it’s Mike to follows the order first. With off-beat strokes he comes, spending himself across his fist, his thighs and belly. He makes a mess of it and Harvey regrets the angle for he can’t really see. He can feel it, though, can feel Mike tighten even more around him, drawing Harvey’s own orgasm from him in a matter of seconds.

Harvey’s thrusts come to a stuttering halt as he lets the sensation wash over him. It starts in the pit of his stomach, then rolls up spine until his ears ring. He’s blinded for a moment and then he can finally breathe again, sucking in a breath as if he’s drowning.

When he comes down, he slumps forward, tipping Mike over as he goes. Mike grunts as their angle shifts again and Harvey halfway slips from his body. 

“That was…,” Mike starts but has to pause to draw in a breath. “That was good.” He drags out the word, giving it a ridiculous amount of “o’s”.

“Yeah, it was,” Harvey can’t help but agree. “It was really good.”

“Can you…” Mike makes a vague gesture between them. 

Harvey presses a kiss to back of his neck, distracting Mike a little as he pulls out. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s… I’ll just be really sore tomorrow.”

Harvey kisses him again. “Should I be sorry?”

Mike snorts a little laugh. “No. It was perfect.”

“Good. I’ll be right back.”

Harvey drags himself out of bed, slipping off the condom as he goes. He discards it in the bathroom, then grabs a washcloth to clean himself off. With another one in hand, he returns to the bedroom to do the same for Mike. 

Mike hisses as Harvey runs the cloth across his crack, the terry cloth fabric enough to tease his overly sensitive skin.

“You know what?” Mike flops onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. “I’m really hungry now.”

Harvey breaks into a grin. “How very convenient that there’s a pot of pasta in the kitchen.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” With a groan, Mike gets up and pads into the kitchen, walking slightly bow-legged.

Harvey watches him go, noticing the pink imprints of his hands on Mike’s hips, a nice accent against the pale skin of his ass. The very same ass that Harvey can’t wait to be inside again really soon and that thought alone is enough to get him half half again.

Mike returns with a plate and a fork, tentatively sitting down opposite Harvey where he’s now lounging back against the headboard. He digs into the artistically arranged pile of cool pasta and moans around the fork. “This is so good.”

“What about me? If you want to go again I need sustenance.” Harvey pokes at his ribs. 

“If you can still say words like sustenance, we really do need to go again.” Mike winds up a few noodles and holds the fork out to Harvey.

The pasta really is good. Not that he’s expected anything less from the genius boy chef in his bed.

“Will you stay the night?” Harvey asks before the words have really registered with the rational part of his brain.

“If you want me to.” Mike’s answer comes equally quickly, as if he’s been waiting for the question. 

“I do.”

“Good.” Mike smiles at him, smugly chewing on another bite. “You know this is going to be complicated, right?”

“You staying over?”

“You and me. With our schedules, we’ll hardly ever see each other. When you leave, I’m still asleep. And when I get home, you’ll already be in bed. It’s going to be a mess.”

“Mike…,” Harvey takes the plate from his hand and puts it on the bedside table. Then he pulls Mike into his lap and into a slow kiss. “Why don’t we start with breakfast?”


End file.
